


Accidental Encounters

by eyrist



Category: Persona 5
Genre: ANGST ???, Akechi Goro Redemption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, akeshu - Freeform, i was literally just winging this, idk - Freeform, maybe fucked up idk, potential full-fledged fic ?, reupload, rough ideas, shuake, this is a throwaway fic that i wrote as a warm-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22208551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyrist/pseuds/eyrist
Summary: During the first three times Akira Kurusu bumped into a certain brunette with pretty, red eyes, he quite enjoyed staring off into space and daydreaming about him in true teenage crush fashion.After their fourth encounter, though? Not so much.But time changes all things, and the more time Akira spends with Goro Akechi, the more he realises he's in for a deeper ride than he initially thought. What started from running into each other turned into running for their lives with each other, and Akira couldn't quite imagine all of it happening any other way.[Reuploaded from old account!]
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 71





	Accidental Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> this,,, is a throwaway fic anything goes  
> seriously, this started as just a warm-up to help me get back into writing after two weeks of not doing it lmao enjoy

Pattering.  
On the roof of Leblanc's attic, on the pavement outside the café, on the glass of the windows and on the door— There was naught but the sound of _pattering._

Showers were common in Tokyo, but even then a storm such as the one that thundered outside the little safe haven of Café Leblanc was something of a rare occurrence at this time of year— but Akira was fond of it. Heavy storms brought him memories of late-night cuddle sessions, of hot coffee shared on a cold afternoon, of a morning stood underneath the safety of Shibuya Station's entrance.

With that particular memory, a splash of red tinted his mind.  
Bordeaux-hued eyes like rich wine, framed underneath meticulously-styled chestnut brown hair. On that particular day (his first one in Tokyo) droplets of rain stuck to the top of those brown locks, his broad shoulders and back soaked only slightly after he'd run right into Akira's form wandering out of the heart of the subway station.  
There were still faint memories of the ache on his tailbone from where he landed; tiny scratches still on his phone from when it fell out of his hands after he'd been knocked back and (efficiently) stopped the body that bulldozed into him. It was soon that he realised that a particular third-year (with his neat uniform dark and wrinkled in some spots from where he couldn't evade the rain) was a force to be reckoned with.

It just so happened that that same student (quite literally) ran into him _again_ after their first encounter when, at the time, he'd simply did a quick bow to apologise and then sped off before Akira could even so much as blink— The second time the brunette knocked him back was at none other than Central Street, when he was looking over a local newspaper and magazine stand.  
Akira still had clear memories of reading something and something about a train crash before he was crashed into himself: But this time, it seemed it wasn't the other boy's fault as he took quickening steps back from a legion of girls fawning over him, getting closer and closer (with intimidatingly bright smiles and with increasingly-aggressive selfie requests) until he took one wrong, quick step and fell backwards onto Akira.

And again, he picked himself up, muttered an apology to Akira, before making a mad dash away. Akira would only dumbfoundedly watch—still laying on the pavement— as the gang of women chased after him, someone he came to dub _Cinderella_ for his charm-and-dash routine.  
Because it had to be the same boy. There couldn't be anyone else in Tokyo with boyish charms like that.

But it didn't stop there.

Next was in Yongen-Jaya itself. Akira was set on the task of picking up Sojiro's order of coffee beans from a shop in the local markets in the area, and with Morgana perched on his shoulder with his front paws, Akira was listening to the cat's monologue on how Sojiro seemed to be a good man to let him stay in the attic— When it happened.  
Turning the corner, with a word halfway-formed on his lips, Akira could do naught but grasp at the wall beside him when he felt a familiar silhouette bump into his own. But instead of the usual apology he came to expect from a boy with tufts of long, brown hair and red eyes sharper than a dagger, Akira heard a low groan and the thump of hard plastic colliding with the ground.

And for the first time, he saw his face clearly.  
Soft cheeks, with plump and delicately-curved lips seemed a stark contrast to the dark crescents under tired, red eyes. The boy that sat on the pavement (groaning, a leather-clad hand to his head) wore the same uniform Akira spotted him in the first time they bumped into each other, and it was almost immediately after the boy collected his bearings on the situation did he dart his gaze around for the metallic-looking briefcase a ways farther from him on the ground.

Once stood, attaché case in his gloved grasp, Akira would be the first one to bow his head and offer a quiet " _sorry_ " in his rarely-used voice. The boy, however, took it in stride and (gracefully) waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the accident, before walking off in a rush to the direction of Café Leblanc.

Akira was left watching his back disappear around the corner, a shout to call him stuck in his throat.

 _I should ask Boss if he knows him,_ he remembers thinking then— And it was exactly what he did.

That was the best choice of his life, aside from a few other things.

It was early June—the first day of it, actually—when Akira decided to hang back in the café. He had just about more than an hour left until closing time, there weren’t any customers, rain pattered down onto the roof of the establishment, and Sojiro was about to excuse himself for the night saying he had some _things_ to attend to— and it was then that Akira stopped him by the door and basically blurted out what his dumbstruck, infatuated brain could remember as a rough description of Cinderella.

 _Cinderella_ , as it turned out, was a regular at Café Leblanc. Oh, how Lady Luck had blessed him when he was informed of that. What more, was that just a few minutes after Sojiro had taken his leave with a grumble, did the bell at the door chime with that small, sweet ring.

And _oh_ , Akira could never quite describe the cocktail of emotions that drove his mind into a frenzy that night. He was stopped mid-sentence into asking Morgana about infiltrations and The Metaverse when he heard the ring of the entrance bell, turned, and nearly suffered a heart attack at the sight of red eyes and damp, matted, brown hair.

Cinderella would look to the bar first, and then to the booths, before settling his gaze on Akira. When Akira heard his voice (not panicked, nor breathless, nor _rushing_ this time) Akira was just about gone down the deep end, never to be seen again. He was a lovestruck fool that _may_ have just been suffering through a case of teenage hormones, but _damn_ did Cinderella look beautiful with that confused glint in his eyes and with droplets of rain dripping from the tips of his hair.

“Oh, apologies. Is Leblanc closed now?” Cinderella asked. Akira, recovering from his momentarily-stunned state, could only shake his head— maybe just a bit _too_ eagerly.

“ _No_ , no. We’re still open.”

He watched as Cinderella settled a familiar, metallic briefcase onto the second seat to the end of the bar, himself sitting at the one at the end; He watched as the boy gathered tufts of brunette hair into gloved hands (which had produced a white handkerchief from within his coat) and squeezed excess water out into the fabric; He watched, dazedly and fascinated, as Cinderella looked back to him—to _Akira_ —who _definitely_ wasn’t just caught staring with parted lips and with dilated pupils.

Still, whether he noticed it or not, Cinderella smiled politely anyway as he folded the handkerchief into a neat square once more.

“Can I ask where Boss is, then?”

“Boss had to turn in early tonight. Said he had some stuff to do, so.. _I’m_ here to finish up.”

Akira had to gulp and look to Morgana as he replied, the cat peering up at him with what could have been a smirk as he (was Morgana a _he_ or a _she_?) sat at the opposite end of the bar— Actually, Morgana in that moment resembled the Cheshire Cat with how his cat lips curved up into something that resembled a sly grin. It was almost like he enjoyed how Akira wasn’t acting all suave and confident: The version of Akira that he’d seen the most up until that point. _Joker_.

Cinderella’s voice brought him back out of his train of thought, equal parts suspicious and curious veiled under a nice, polite smile and a pleasant voice to boot.

“ _You_ being..?”

Akira flashed him a grin— one that was toothy and exuded his found-again confidence. He had to act cool here.

“Single,” he replied, bluntly and with a wink. He held the overly-flirtatious smile and stare that trained on Cinderella for just two seconds before Akira let out a laugh, seeing the dumbfounded look that crossed the boy’s face. “I’m the part-timer here. Usually, I’m left to lock up since I started.”

Amidst the sound of rain pattering on the roof and out onto the pavement, Akira heard a hum emanate from the brunette sitting on the other side of the bar. A gloved hand came to cup Cinderella’s chin as he squinted at Akira as if assessing him. For a moment, the barista thought that he’d recognise him as the boy he’s run into like, _three_ times now— But alas, after just a few seconds, the brunette shrugged to himself wordlessly, hands now interlaced atop the surface of the bar as a smile rose on his cheeks.

“Well, then. If that’s the case, can I ask for the house blend? The rain’s quite cold outside.”

Akira would only give him a nod before turning to the kitchen— But he’d pause, a thought flickering into his head as he caught a split-second sight of the boy’s soaked shoulders.

“Actually,” he began, looking over his shoulder. What he saw was Cinderella rubbing his hands up and down his arms, hunched forwards by just a _bit_ , “Want a towel, too? You’re soaking wet.”

Their eyes met— and for a moment, there was a _hint_ of vulnerability in those ruby-red irises. Cinderella would part his lips open, then close them, and then purse them into a thin line. He stared down at the bar for a few seconds, eyes blank as he looked as if he were contemplating the offer. Before not too long, he looked back up to Akira and nodded simply, brows knitted together with a sheepish smile pulling up across his damp cheeks.

“Please.”

Akira jogged up to his attic-room soon after, steps quick as he rounded over to his box of belongings, dug out a clean towel, before slinking back down the staircase and handing the towel over to Cinderella. When he finally started preparing the brunette’s coffee, he’d tell convince himself that the thump in his chest wasn’t from the brief contact of skin on leather.

“Is it good?” Akira asked, soon as Cinderella settled the cup back down onto his saucer. He was still quite new to coffee-brewing, and _damn_ was pour-over hard to make right. A few months of practise made him pretty _okay_ at it but he wanted to impress someone with his work here. Cinderella began humming when the question was voiced, and while he did, Akira could feel the dread of momentary anxiety creep up from his core.

“It tastes different from how it usually is, for one,” the boy began, tongue clicking over the roof of his mouth, “But it’s not _bad_. I can tell you’re a rookie at this, though.”

Akira released a breath he didn’t realise he was even _holding_.

“ _Oh_ , good. I was afraid I’d make someone sick again.”

Cinderella eyed him sceptically. A grin crept up Akira’s face.

“I’m kidding, I’m _kidding_! No one’s gotten sick over my coffee!”

“As far as we know, anyway,” chimed Morgana, who’d been curling up silently in one of the booth’s couches until then. Akira shot him a subtle plead to keep quiet, and when he looked back to the brunette, he’d catch the boy sneaking a glance at the booth, too.

“Is that..?”

“My cat. Sorry, he’s just really noisy sometimes.”

Cinderella looked back to him, something like a dispelled curiosity in his eyes. He hugged the towel around his shoulders closer as if it were a blanket.

“So, you live here then?” the brunette asked simply, one hand reaching out once more to take a sip of his steaming hot coffee as Akira nodded, though dumbly.

“How did you know?”

“I’m a psychic. I can read your thoughts.. Your cat’s thoughts, too.”

Incredulous, Akira would only stare at him with pursed lips and a disbelieving expression painted on his face. Who would believe _that_? But then again, who would believe him if he told someone about a world where you gained a power called _Persona_ that you used to change hearts? Akira wasn’t really one to talk about supernatural powers being _unrealistic_ , he supposed, but still..

When Cinderella laughed though, he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching upwards just ever so _slightly_.

“I’m kidding, of course. I’m no psychic but I _am_ a rookie detective.” The brunette shook his head a bit before chuckling. “This towel being at the ready and _your_ _cat_ staying in a _café_ was what gave it away, in case you were wondering.”

With his forearms, Akira leaned forwards into the bar, eyes on the brunette sitting across from him. He was surprised, sure, but he was one who loved surprises.

“That so, huh?” he laughed, “Yeah to be honest, I’m just some guy that lives up in the attic in exchange for working here. You caught me, detective.”

The grin on his cheeks widened as he watched the detective lean towards him in a similar fashion, his cheek in one hand as he leaned closer to Akira, too.

“Well, as _“just some guy that lives up in the attic for working here,”_ you make decent coffee.”

He scooted forwards just a bit closer.

“I’m touched.”

Cinderella did, too.

“You should be.”

That was either a suggestion or a sign of how highly Cinderella thought of himself. With the glint in his eyes and with the half-smirk that formed on the brunette’s lips though, Akira let it slide. He supposed this was a good a time as any to bring up their previous encounters, before _something_ happened.

“Say, do you..”

“I don’t want to be here for this! Please _stop_!”

Morgana hopped up onto the counter between them as he whined, tail flicking behind him agitatedly. He eyed up at Akira, a glare evident in his bright blue irises.

“Morgana, _please_ —”

Akira bit his tongue soon after. His gaze darted over to the brunette, whose eyes were widened in momentary shock and with his body sitting back upright— maybe a bit farther back as he inspected the black cat that sat between them now. Was the pink tint in his cheeks always there?  
But _aside_ from that, Akira had forgotten that (with the exception of him and other Persona users) everyone else heard Morgana simply _meow_ instead of _talk_. It was a close call, but what he’d blurted wasn’t out of the ordinary in any way for a cat owner to a cat.. They were safe.

“ _You_ ,” Akira would begin, picking up Morgana with both hands, “are going into timeout, young man. No sushi for a week.”

“Akira, what are you _doing_?! Why are you talking about _“timeout”_?! In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one training you guys as thie—!” Morgana screeched, thrashing in the boy’s arms as he made his way to the staircase leading to their attic.

But Akira would simply stay quiet, giving an apologetic smile to the boy sitting at the counter before he’d climbed up the stairs. Once he reached the old couch there, Morgana hopped off and glared up at him.

“I can’t talk to you when there’s anyone else in the room,” Akira would start quickly, his voice low and quiet as he crouched to eye-level with the cat, “Remember, you’re just a cat here. Cats only _meow_ and if I respond to that, it’ll seem weird.”

“Okay, but—”

“I was only acting. You can still have sushi, don’t worry,” Akira chuckled, a hand petting Morgana’s head as he stood. When the cat swatted at him, Akira would let himself laugh as quietly as he could before looking to the stairs.

“Just stay here, okay? I can handle what’s happening downstairs. When he leaves, I’ll close up shop and you can yell at me about going to bed.”

He’d flash a bright smile at the cat before the creak of old wood squeaked off underneath his shoes, Akira just about two steps down the staircase when Morgana called out to him.

“I kept talking because he didn’t feel like an outsider.”

And that made him stop. His eyes snapped back to the cat still sitting up on the old couch, stare boring into his own. Even as a cat, Akira could see the deep frown set on his friend’s lips.

“I didn’t want to bring it up unless I was wrong, but I think I can sort of feel a different aura between the Phantom Thieves, and regular people. When I’m near a Persona user, I can just.. _feel_ it. Their power. That guy didn’t feel any different from you, Akira.”

Morgana shook his head.

“Be careful about that one. He doesn’t sit right with me.”

Akira descended the rest of the stairs with Morgana’s words plaguing his mind. When he’d come back down to the café, he would only see the brunette still sitting there— But now there was a certain weight that sagged his shoulders, a certain intensity in his eyes as he stared at (as Akira realised) the now-empty coffee cup before him.. A certain tenseness in his hand as he pressed his thumb and his middle finger to the apples of his cheekbones.

The first thought that came to Akira was that, that was the exact same pose he’d strike whenever he made to hold his mask in The Metaverse.

But still, as Akira walked up and sat on the closest, unoccupied chair next to the detective, he’d flash a bright, cheerful smile.

“Hey. Sorry about that— _Cats_ , y’know?” he’d laugh casually.

But then the humour faded from his eyes when their gazes held each other. Akira, looking into the eyes of the boy at the time, thought that he _must_ have been a completely different person.  
Those bordeaux-hued eyes held none of the gentleness and the politeness they did just minutes prior; In their place, a twisted sort of humour settled within his look, matching the grin that crept up his cheeks.

The next thing that Akira knew, there was a gun to his forehead.

“Who are you?”

“ _Whoa_ , hey— That’s—”

The barrel pressed against his skin harder.

“Who. _Are_. You.”

And Akira would drop the mask. He stared back at the boy standing over him, lips pulled into a frown, getting to his feet to look his _Cinderella_ in the eye.

“My name is Akira Kurusu. I moved here in April—”

“Because of an assault charge, I know. What’s your role in all of this? What do _you_ possibly have to do with Masayoshi Shido?”

Akira took a deep breath in, eyes momentarily breaking contact with the brunette’s as he glanced at the staircase. If, by sheer luck, Morgana wasn’t yet asleep and he heard the low mumble of the boy’s voice, they could probably devise a plan to tackle him down— Or at least, get the gun away from his head.

“And _who_ is Masayoshi Shido?” Akira would instead ask, voice careful. He could see the boy grip his gun tighter, felt the pressure against his forehead as he _growled_.

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

Akira stared him in the eye.

“I don’t know who he is.”

The boy continued glaring at him, and Akira could see the gears turn in his head behind those red eyes— like he was assessing whether or not Akira was lying.

“Bald, middle-aged man. Yellow lens in his glasses. Goatee. If that doesn’t jog your memory, he’s a candidate running for prime minister in this year’s elections.”

It hit him. All at _once_. It was almost jarring how that information seeped into his brain so _easily_ , associating itself with memories of a scuffle in front of an elevator with bodyguards and Ryuji— of a night in Kyoto that involved a terrified woman, a bald, drunken man, and Akira Kurusu.

Akira focused on the boy’s eyes, though dread crept up the back of his neck at the cool metal of a gun aimed at him. It was slow, steady, and Akira would think of his own gloved hands aiming _his_ gun at countless Shadows.

“He’s the one that pinned the false assault charge against me.”

To say chills not only raced up his spine (but engulfed his body and mind as well) wouldn’t quite cover it. As the boy started chuckling—his laughs growing louder and _madder_ with each second that passed—Akira could feel the genuine fear of _Death_ start to grip at him. Before him, with a gun aimed straight between his eyes, stood not a charming, pleasant boy; but a madman ready to kill.

Judging by how he’d so easily settled back into the cold, unfeeling glare trained on Akira, spoke with an empty and void voice, it wasn’t the first time.

“ _Oh_ , this just keeps getting better and better. Let me guess what’s next— _You’re_ the leader, aren’t you?”

To that, Akira kept quiet, his lips pursing. As he watched the brunette’s grin widen, it was evident enough that he didn’t need to answer.

“What do you want, then?” Akira asked, doing his _damnest_ to steel his nerves and to even out his voice. “What do you want out of _me_ , now that you know who I am?”

The boy’s grin fell. His face settled into something grim. 

“You’re going to help me assassinate Masayoshi Shido.”

Akira knew better than to raise his voice and object.

“And why would I do that?”

“You and the rest of your _teammates_ either die _now_ , or I let you live if you help me do it.”

A pause. Akira looked to his right once he saw a black blur make its way down the steps.

“Do I have any other choice?”

The chill of the gun disappeared from his view.

“No.”

The boy had lowered it.

“And there’s no way I can talk you out of this?”

Akira turned back to him.

“No.”

The brunette stared at Akira— He stared _past_ his eyes. Like he was peering right into the very core of his soul. Akira could do naught but stand his ground, hands balled into tight fists with his nails digging into the skin of his palms. Morgana, a few ways away from them, had long stilled in shock, rendered speechless.

“This is the deal that you’ve made with me,” the brunette began, his voice like molten lava on skin—akin to an ache, a searing _pain_ in Akira’s ears, “By the end of the year, _right_ as the elections end and that bastard is prime minister, you are going to help me go through his Palace and put a bullet through his Shadow’s skull. You will _not_ inform the rest of your teammates. You will _not_ deter me from my goal. You do what _I_ say _when_ I say so, lest you risk exposing your identity as the Leader of the _Phantom_ _Thieves_ and spending your life behind bars— or dying the moment you dare try to back out. Do you understand?”

He breathed in deeply, heart pounding against his ribcage, body feeling heavy. The rain from beyond the café walls sounded _deafening_.

“I understand.”

The boy reached out his hand to Akira then, and all he could do was eye it— Almost like he was _glaring_ at the leather-clad fingers before he, too, reached out and felt the grip of the the brunette as they shook hands.

“You’ve struck a deal with _Goro_ _Akechi_ now, Akira Kurusu. Do _not_ disappoint me.”

And it was a deal that felt more like a noose slowly tightening around his throat than anything.  
But this isn’t the story of how Akira Kurusu died; Nor is this the story of how Goro Akechi died. This isn’t even the story of how they managed to kill the future Prime Minister of Japan together.

Instead, this is the story of how Akira Kurusu came to become the husband of one Goro Akechi.

**Author's Note:**

> where have i been ?? school.  
> what have i been doing? n ot writing.  
> why have i been doing that? l o t s a shit.
> 
> but here's a thing, i guess. a thing i started a l o ng time ago on my phone at 800 words that became a full-fledged thing at 4k words with a completely different direction than when i initially started it lmao
> 
> it's fine idk it's just a thing that barely makes any sense bc it started as a way to warm back up and get my ~creative juices flowing~ but guess who ended up taking it w a y too seriously and stayed up to 3 am for it  
> if you want to see where it goes, go ahead and tell me  
> if you think it doesn't make any sense at all, sound off your criticism
> 
> thanks for reading !!
> 
> (no listen list today because all i listened to while writing this was rain lmao)


End file.
